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Hell, maybe he was now. There were plenty of women who were into long beards like that.
Even Daisy, at five, was fascinated by it. Daisy’s mother, not so much.
But that was not why she was there in this apartment.
That was not why she was there in his apartment.
Without his cut, the off-white thermal he wore hugged his broad chest and thick arms snuggly. He was clearly solid, without the beer belly she expected from a biker. She figured they did nothing but party all the time. But no, this man did not have any kind of belly at all.
Unlike hers, which was bigger than she’d like. She’d been a lot smaller before she became pregnant with Daisy. Motherhood had filled her out just about everywhere.
Dennis had suggested she join a gym after Daisy was born, but Cassie was too exhausted to work out after working full-time, taking care of the house and raising her sassy daughter.
For the first couple of years, Dennis was involved. With Cassie. With the house. With their daughter.
Then three years ago, he began to pull away and get distant.
Cassie thought it was her weight that bothered him. That he was no longer attracted to her. That having a child, and also her weight gain, had destroyed their intimacy.
Many nights when she reached out to him, he’d turn his back to her and say he was too tired. And every time that happened, she vowed to join that gym and get back into shape.
But she never did.
And they became more distant. Less like a married couple and more like roommates who weren’t even friends.
“Cassie.”
She mentally shook herself and saw he’d moved closer. Now just a couple of feet away, he was looking at her with concern, those beautiful green eyes searching.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Not gonna hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Wanna take off your coat?” He stepped even closer, holding out his large hand. She studied it. No jewelry in sight. Unlike Dodge, Cage and Trip, who all wore a few bulky rings and sometimes leather wrist bands.
But as he held out his hand, the sleeve of his thermal slid up enough for her to see a tattoo circling his wrist. She wondered how many he had.
“Will I be here long?”
“Depends on you.” His voice—that rolling thunder—rumbled and it made heat swirl through her belly.
“You’re the one with my car key.”
He stepped up to her until they were practically toe to toe and slipped his hands under her coat to slide it off her shoulders. The whole time his face was tipped down to hers. Unreadable.
She hid the shiver that brief touch caused, but it was impossible to hide her nipples tightening into hard peaks.
She noticed that he noticed. Though, he said nothing. Instead, he took her coat in one hand and dug into his front jeans’ pocket with the other, pulling out her car key. He slipped it into her coat pocket, making sure she saw him. Then he moved away to hang it right next to his cut by the door.
An unspoken assurance she could leave whenever she wanted to.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her throat convulsing as he moved back to stand in front of her.
He was so damn tall. She was tall for a woman at five-foot-eight, but she felt tiny next to him. Almost petite.
His thumb brushed over her forehead, pushing a lock of hair out of her face, then he buried his spread fingers into the hair above her ear. “Judge.”
“Is that your real name?”
“No,” he answered softly, his eyes pinned on her mouth.
She licked her lips. “What is it?”
“Judd.”
The longer he stared at her lips, the harder it was for her to catch her breath. “And why Judge?”
“Why not?”
“Is there a story behind it?”
“It matter?”
She guessed it didn’t. “You answered my question with something I already knew. What I want to know is who are you?”
“Who are you?”
She blinked up at him. His thumb was massaging her temple, his fingers gripping her hair. Not roughly, but, even so, holding her there. A prisoner to his touch.
“Why do you know things about me?”
He released her suddenly and Cassie was relieved he moved away, allowing her to think more clearly, letting her catch her breath.
“Promise you’re gonna hear me out.”
Well, that just put her on edge. And not a good one.
“Been on your feet all night. Get off ‘em.”
Huh?
“They hurt?”
What the hell was he talking about?
“Your feet. They hurt?”
She pinned her eyebrows together. “Y-yes.”
“Take a load off.” He jerked his chin toward the couch, where Jury was already curled up in one corner but keeping an eye on them both.
She moved toward the couch only because, yes, her feet hurt, and it would be nice to get off them. A hot shower usually helped somewhat with her sore feet and back. A soak in a tub would be better but filling the tub would take too long every night and might wake up everyone in her sister’s house.
